This photograph was taken 40 years ago in 1981. With the money I had saved during my year on Gough Island I started building a cottage on the plot my father had bought in 1978. Initially, I did most of the work myself and stayed on site.
At that time, there were only a few dozen houses in the whole of Pearly Beach, and in Broadway there was only one. This was owned by Vernon Kruger, a retired Air Force brigadier. Broadway was a narrow track surfaced with a thin layer of gravel. Being at the back of the village it carried virtually no traffic and I was able to park my Peugeot 404 station wagon in the middle of it for days and nights on end without having to move it. The vehicle served as a bakkie as well as sleeping quarters. My toilet and cold-water shower were situated at the bottom of Beach Road, a mere five-minute walk away.
There was no electricity and water came from the tower, which was gravity fed direct from the dam at the back of Groothagelkraal farm. Apart from a rudimentary sand filter there was no attempt at purification, and the water quality was better than it is now.
At that time, there was virtually no crime in the area and when we went out windows were left open and doors unlocked.
This is what Broadway looks like today.
Forty years ago, there were no tarred roads beyond Gansbaai, there was just one small shop at the Camp Site – and it was just that: a caravan and camping site – and basic services like water supply and road maintenance were provided by the Bredasdorp Divisional Council. Many species of fish were still plentiful and perlemoen poaching was unheard of. Moonless nights were genuinely dark and the stars actually sparkled, the air was so crisp and clear. Giant moths battered the window panes and smaller insects, along with the damsel flies, swarmed about the gas lamp and candles. At any hint of rain, a cacophony of frog chirps and croaks drowned out the muffled clamour of the surf. There were frequent sightings of small game, especially at dawn and dusk. Grysbokkies, porcupines, Cape hares, mongooses, polecats, otters, civets and honey badgers were not uncommon. There were plenty of snakes,too, and the mole and mouse population was kept under control.
No more than thirty Whites lived in Pearly Beach permanently, and at what is now called Eluxolweni there were only Coloured folk and no Blacks.
I had been looking for isolation in a place of unspoilt natural beauty and that is what I found. However, over the ensuing four decades, and most noticeably in the past three years, Pearly Beach has lost much of its lustre. It has begun to take on some aspects of a refugee camp. There has been an influx of migrants from the Eastern Cape attracted by the lure of easy money poaching abalone or engaging in other illegal activity. And then there are the middle class fugitives fleeing the perils of urban life, or the deteriorating conditions in other parts of the country. Very few of these new arrivals show any appreciation for the environment they now find themselves in, and appear resentful that they have ended up in this backwater. And they all have dogs! The peace and quiet is repeatedly shattered by the mindless barking of these animals while their owners sit inside watching soapies or sport.
I am tempted to sell up and look for some other place to live, but where would I find peace and seclusion on this over-populated planet? I am afraid I will have to resign myself to being surrounded by detestable people whose howling, barking and yapping dogs will eventually drive me insane.
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